The Northman took her halfway along the alley, before sliding into an alcove and lifting the cover to a hidden sewer entry.

  “Wait for me at the bottom,” he ordered, motioning her to lead the way down the ladder.

  Brianda nodded and descended down the ladder she found at its rim, letting her eyes adjust to the dimly lit dark. Lanterns stood in alcoves set at distant intervals along the wall.

  If she’d been purely human, it would have been very hard to see, and she quietly thanked the father she’d never known. His heritage had given her the ability to see in the low light levels of the tunnel, where a human would have struggled to see anything but the dark.

  The Northman followed, dragging the sewer cover into place above him before he did so. Instead of heading directly into the dark, he stopped at the ladder’s foot, fumbling at his belt. Muttering indistinctly, he pulled a gleaming stone from a concealed compartment in the ladder, shattering Brianda’s low-light vision and scattering the shadows.

  Brianda dashed the tears from her eyes and stared at the stone.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  “Wizard light,” the Northman answered.

  “Was it expensive?” Brianda wanted to know, more because of the magic, than because she needed to know.

  The Northman snorted softly, and his mouth moved into what might have been a smile, but which faded too quickly for Brianda to be sure.

  “Cost the last owner his life,” he replied, leading the way deeper into the tunnel.

  At a loss for how to respond, Brianda followed.

  With the Northman moving swiftly and surely ahead, she soon found herself struggling to keep up. Her side ached and a dull pain radiated through her ribs and stomach. To make matters worse, the wizard light’s glow hurt her eyes, making her vision blur with tears.

  Whenever she tried to look beyond the light, her eyes met an impenetrable wall of black, the lanterns nothing more than fuzzy orange pinpricks breaking the dark. The sewer air stank, moving on a fetid current that eddied and swirled around them.

  It was cool against her side, its touch bringing a chill to the wound there. Ice leached through her skin, clawing its way into her chest.

  The Northman moved on, ignorant, his long strides eating the ground as he strode beside a thick river of sludge, oblivious to the puddles through which he splashed. Brianda struggled to keep up, trying to keep her breath even as she stumbled after him.

  Her head spun, and she wondered how much further they had to go. If they didn’t make it to the guild quarters soon, she wasn’t sure she’d make it at all. Darkness lapped at the edge of her mind, so she focused on the pure white glow of the wizard light, using it to anchor her to wakefulness.

  She used it, also, to steer by, the Northman’s silhouette like a shadowy beacon surrounded in a swathe of light. The breeze chilled her, its touch reaching more than her side. Dampness had spread down her side and over her hip. The sewer wind turned its warmth to ice.

  The wizard light had shrunk to a distant beacon by the time the Northman stopped by another ladder in the wall. A frown creased his thick silvery brow when he saw how far behind she’d fallen, but Brianda moved as confidently as she could, and he didn’t speak. Instead, he tapped the ladder with his hand.

  “Up you go,” he told her, the frown returning as she grasped the first rung, and winced as she began to climb.

  “You’re hurt?” he asked, and she blinked.

  “A little,” she replied, forcing herself to keep moving.

  Stopping seemed like a really bad idea, no matter how tired she felt. They had almost arrived and Brianda figured she could last a little longer. As soon as she’d gone high enough, the Northman followed.

  They both stopped when Brianda reached a firmly closed hatch. She flinched as the Northman pulled himself up enough to reach past her and rap a staccato sequence of knocks on the barrier. Footsteps echoed overhead, and the hatch opened.

  Brianda blinked against the sudden glare of a lantern, raising a hand to shield her face.

  “I don’t know you!” the startled rumble made her flinch, but before she could explain, two mammoth-sized hands seized her by the shoulder and jerked her clear of the trapdoor.

  She heard the Northman shouting in her wake, was sure he cleared the hatch in record time, and wished she knew what half the words meant. By then she was halfway across the room above, the hard-won gold of her mission raining down in her wake.

  The Northman was still shouting when she found the wall, twisting so she hit it with her shoulder and back. She bounced, but not very far, landing in a heap on the floor. The doorkeeper’s words reached her as if from a great distance.

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was one of ours?”

  “I knocked!”

  “As if that was enough. How was I to know she hadn’t spied the codes? You know what she is!”

  As if either her profession or her heritage was something to be held against her, Brianda thought, fighting down the urge to sink into the feathery darkness that called.

  “It was the right code!” the Northman roared back. “What she is doesn’t matter!”

  “It does! Why’d you send her up first?”

  “Because…” The Northman stopped, letting out a deep sigh. “Winds of the Far Ice! We need to…”

  “Check to see if she’s still alive,” a newly familiar voice suggested.

  It reminded Brianda of the dark, its tones both deep and cold.

  Steel hissed clear of scabbards and boots shifted. The guildmaster ignored them, coming through the far door, his amber eyes gleaming.

  “Yes, Guildmaster,” the guildsman replied, and Brianda heard the sound of his approach.

  Rather than lie there and wait, she pushed slowly and painfully to her hands and knees, the sudden tearing pain in her side an unpleasant surprise.

  “Of all the gods-forsaken, in-bred, goat…” she began, softly, using the wall to go from her knees to her feet. When she’d finished suggesting he was the outcast, reject of a breeding project using effluent and govra, Brianda went over it again…in orcish…because some epithets sounded better that way.

  By the time she was upright, and able to look him in the eye, while cursing in fluent elvish, Grunwol was staring open-mouthed, and the door-keeper had turned a bright cherry red.

  “And of all the ass-infected, bottom-breeding…” Brianda began, describing what she thought of loyalty tests for thieves’ guilds that put the lives of their members in danger to test them, “…demon-spawned, illegitimate…”

  Soft laughter reached her and she faltered, having switched from elvish to something combining it with orcish and trade tongue. Another chuckle caused her to stumble over the next two words and then to stop.

  She caught the Northman’s look, and the door-keeper’s expression, and scanned across to the guildmaster. By the time she reached him, all amusement had vanished from his face, and his expression gave nothing away. Brianda blushed.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I’m sorry, Guildmaster…” she began, stepping away from the wall.

  A wave of weakness washed over her and she stumbled. The Northman hastily stepped forward winding an arm around her waist. At first Brianda tried to stand on her own, but she soon realized that was impossible.

  Besides, they’d need to know about the injury sooner, rather than later, just as soon as…

  She gave the guildmaster a worried look, then took control of her face as her master had taught her, and wiped all emotion from it as if looking at the guildmaster was like looking into a mirror. She saw him tilt his head as though something about one side of her trousers had caught his attention.

  A momentary frown creased his brow, and fled. His voice made her tense.

  “Brianda ‘Bonnie’ Bloodbriar,” he began, letting his satisfaction at her capture come through in his voice.

  Brianda shivered, fighting the urge to lean on the Northman. Any agreements she made were going to be made with her standing on her own two feet.

  “Guildmaster,” she managed, as fear sent her heart racing.

  How does he know my name? Will he do me harm for bearing it?

  She shivered, focusing on staying upright.

  “I am Guildmaster Raomar Filameth, Overseer of the Deverath guild, and you have not paid your respects, despite being a guest in my city for over a week.”

  “I am no thief,” Brianda replied, and he gave her a hard stare.

  “Spies are merely thieves of a different name,” he answered, “and my mistress still counts them as part of her domain.”

  Brianda wondered what his mistress thought of assassins.

  “Any who cloak their lives in shadow come under Enshul’s rule,” he told her, answering the unspoken question as though reading her mind, “regardless of race.”

  Brianda bowed her head. She knew of the goddess, but very rarely prayed. Her training had been sufficient for most of her missions. Rather than insult him or the goddess herself, she remained silent.

  “And you were warned,” the guildmaster stated, reminding her of the Northman’s earlier visit.

  Brianda tilted her head, glancing up at the guildsman, wondering when he would notice how much she was leaning on him. She found her face heating, again.

  “I had not had time to comply,” she answered.

  “Why?” the guildmaster asked in mild tones.

  Brianda shivered. The last time she’d heard tones like that, it had been Gravarik, and the beating that had followed… Fear rolled through her, and she swallowed to wet her throat.

  “I was on business of a delicate nature,” she rasped.

  The Northman snorted and the guildmaster raised an eyebrow, studying her until she blushed.

  Instead of challenging her, he asked, “This business, is it now complete?”

  As if you didn’t know, Brianda thought, careful to keep her rebellion from her face. She kept her answer simple.

  “Yes.” It seemed the safest thing to say.

  “This evening at Hustler’s Tavern,” the Northman confirmed, and Brianda drew a sharp breath.

  The guildmaster nodded, his face turning grave.

  “Nevertheless, you have operated without license or permission and as such owe us a percentage…”

  Brianda snorted and was about to indicate the gold lying scattered across the floor, when he continued.

  “…of your time.”

  Brianda stilled. Shock momentarily left her blank, and it took her a moment to gather her thoughts.

  “How much…time?” she managed, only to have him change the subject.

  “It has also come to my attention that your master is no more.”

  That unexpectedly stung, and Brianda fought the sudden prickle of tears. Rather than trust her voice, she nodded, jerkily. It was not enough to satisfy the guildmaster.

  “Can you confirm it?”

  Brianda gulped, taking an iron grip on her emotions, and raising her head so she could meet his eyes.

  “He died on the road. Someone…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “They sent assassins.”

  She did not add that her master had kept the assassins busy so that she could escape and complete their task…or that she had heard him die.

  The kill had not been clean.

  “I do not know if he was buried.”

  The simple admission almost broke her, but she held her emotions in check and fixed her gaze on the beast-elf’s face. He met her eyes and held them, studying her with a somber gaze.

  “You know I cannot let a mere apprentice leave my jurisdiction,” he stated, and Brianda’s spirits flagged. She’d been hoping… “Deverath will complete your training.”

  Brianda wanted to argue, but tiredness dragged at her limbs and pulled her toward sleep, and she knew she didn’t have time.

  “Guild terms,” she asked, hearing the faint slurring that edged her words, and hoping he did not.

  “Fifty-five per cent of takings,” he answered, forestalling any protest with a half-raised hand, “and all information to me. There is no independent brokering, here. Understood?”

  Brianda nodded, the movement making her head spin. She swayed, and the Northerner tightened his grip around her waist. The guildmaster continued.

  “And mind the Watch.”

  “And in return?” Brianda asked, when he paused.

  “Guild protection and support,” he replied, “training, and license to operate within the city once your training is complete.”

  “Understood,” Brianda told him. “I accept your offer.”

  It was hardly an offer, but she was in no position to argue. There was one more thing she had to ask, but as she opened her mouth to do so, the guildmaster spoke.

  “There is one other condition,” he added, and Brianda sighed.

  There was always one more condition.

  “How much?” she demanded.

  “If you are ever imprisoned, the guild will rescue you, but the price is a child to one such as me.”

  Brianda stilled. “A… A what?”

  “A child to one such as me, in return for your release from imprisonment.”

  The demand made her head spin…or something did. Rather than fight it, Brianda said the first thing that came to mind.

  “As long as you’re the father,” she replied, and this time the slurring could be clearly heard.

  The Northman jerked, making a sound somewhere between a snort and a short laugh, but hurriedly strangling it. The guildmaster stared at her, then shrugged.

  “Agreed,” he replied, then asked, “Pact?”

  Brianda didn’t answer, the pain had subsided to numbness, but she felt cold…and tired…like she could sleep for weeks…like she should sleep for weeks. She knew enough of injuries to know that wasn’t good.

  “Healing,” she mumbled, and he stepped forward giving her a worried glance.

  “What of it?”

  “Is it guild cared?”

  The guildmaster dipped his head.

  “Of course.”

  “A…all of it?”

  The guildmaster’s frown deepened.

  “Yeees.”

  “Then pact,” she agreed, extending her hand.

  The guildmaster moved forward to accept it, frowning as though he felt its temperature and was worried.

  “Pact,” he agreed, his frown growing deeper as his grip tightened.

  “Witnessed,” the Northman said, covering their hands with his own, before the guildmaster could say anything.

  “Witnessed and sealed,” the door keeper confirmed, adding his hand to theirs.

  As if the words were a signal, the darkness rose and dragged Brianda in.

  She did not hear the Northman’s exclamation as she slid out from under his arm.

  * * *

  Raomar watched as Grunwol caught the girl before she hit the floor. As the Northman’s hands closed around her waist his eyes widened.

  “Roamer.” Alarm rattled through the man’s voice and Raomar knelt quickly beside him.

  Grunwol gently laid the girl on the floor and drew the wizard light from his pouch. His hand was slick with blood, and the blood-drenched tear in her armor and tunic shone. More spread onto the stone beneath her, but slowly.

  The Northman tossed the stone toward the door keeper.

  “Agar! Keep it steady.”

  The watchman caught the stone with deft fingers and came to stand over them, holding it so neither blocked its light. As he held it aloft, Grunwol drew his dagger and cut the girl’s armor from her, setting the pieces aside so the guildmaster could work.

  “Will she live?” he asked, seeing the depth of the cut and the pallor of her skin.

  “Enshul,” Raomar began, addressing the goddess in the opening words of a short prayer, “she is one of mine…and so, one of yours. I ask your intervention.”

  As he spoke a silver glow sprang up around his hands, spreading over the wound from the fingertips he used to pinch the injury’s edges together. He closed his eyes, following the magic’s passage as it flowed below the skin, mending the damage she’d taken in their test.

  A small smile curled his lips as he remembered her description of tests that risked the testers and their subjects.

  She might not be wrong, he conceded, as the magic tended to the worst of the injury, mending the damage deeper than mere skin. The blood flow slowed and stopped, once again contained as it should be.

  Grunwol shifted uncomfortably beside him and he felt for the man. To be denied… To have lost…

  He pushed the thought away. It had been years since he’d stopped the Northman following his mate into death, and he still wasn’t sure he was forgiven. He did not need to see the man’s face to know how close those memories still rode him.

  The glow intensified, spreading from his hands to his elbows. Blue lightning flashed and he pressed his lips together, holding the magic in place by sheer force of will, and checking to ensure the healing was complete. After one final flash, the lightning died, and the spell ended.

  Raomar lifted his hands, resting them on his knees, before struggling to his feet.

  “It is done,” he stated, looking down at the girl’s still form. “Get her cleaned up and in a tunic and put her in with Mika and Aral.”

  Remembering the healing both men had needed, he frowned, adding, “Get Druurnal to watch them. I want no more injuries, and either one might feel payback is in order.”

  Grunwol acknowledge the accuracy of that statement with another soft snort. Brianda had acquitted herself well, but her defense had not been without cost. Mika and Aral would definitely feel some payback was in order.

  He bent to lift the girl from the floor, lifting her head so the guildmaster could slip a brass token on a chain around her neck.

  As Grunwol turned away, Raomar laid a hand on his arm.

  “Thank you.”

  The Northman shrugged.

  “You are the reason I remain,” he answered simply, and Raomar didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

  Raomar nodded, taking his hand from Grunwol’s arm and watching him go. He hoped Mika and Aral wouldn’t go too far…but that was why he’d set Druurnal to watch…and he had more important matters that needed his attention.

  A new threat was rising, and tonight’s interference had only highlighted the danger.

  Things were afoot in the city, and he needed to discover what they were.

  Sending a silent request to the goddess, he returned to his quarters.

  The water shimmered at his arrival.